


Sword and Shield

by Miicah



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Benvolio's just a ball of feels, Family, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Let him mourn his family, Missing Scene, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 05:12:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11074755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miicah/pseuds/Miicah
Summary: It wasn’t just Mercutio or Romeo he was mourning that day, it was himself. The part of him that died along with them, the part of him he could never be again.(A missing scene from 1x01)





	Sword and Shield

**Author's Note:**

> Was anyone else wondering why Benvolio was late to Romeo and Juliet's service? Because I was lol Coupled with the fact that they never showed Ben mourning for Mercutio (or Romeo, really) and him being so damn sad during the funeral this just came to life. Benvolio's just got me all in my feels, IDK man!
> 
> I also suck at speech for that time period so...yeah lol

The ringing of the cathedral’s bells could be heard throughout all of Verona, even in the small tucked away section of the city that Benvolio found himself in that morning. He had left the Montague grounds early in order to have enough time for the detour he had planned, but it seemed like he was going to be late for the ceremonial procession for the funeral anyway.

Well, what was one last mark of disappointment and disapproval from his uncle on his record before he officially became the heir of the house, right? For old times sake. (Oh, who was he kidding? He would never be good enough for his uncle in this lifetime or the next.) Besides, it was _because_ this was his last fleeting moments as the black sheep spare that he came here; he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wouldn’t have this freedom again.

‘Here’ being the estate of Mercutio’s family, specifically the private crypt where they had buried his body. Neither of Montague or Capulet blood, Mercutio was royal, but that only meant so much when one was merely a cousin, a spare, disposable until you weren’t. Mercutio was rich enough to command a secured resting place but not quite important enough to bring the city to a halt like his dearest cousin Romeo and his fair bride Juliet.

Being able to relate to each other on such a level was one of the things Benvolio had loved about Mercutio; as much as he loved Romeo, he could never quite understand what it was like. And because Benvolio did love Mercutio was the reason he just _had_ to pay his respects and say his goodbyes before he would no longer be able to.

It wasn’t just Mercutio or Romeo he was mourning that day, it was himself. The part of him that died along with them, the part of him he could never be again.

Bowing his head as the servant that had walked him to the crypt opened the doors for him, Benvolio stepped into the candle-lit room, turning to watch as the doors were closed behind him. Now alone—in more ways than one—he walked further in, searching the stones until he found the one that bore Mercutio’s name.

Benvolio let out a shaky breath before kneeling in front of the flagstone, paying no mind to how the unforgiving surface dug into his skin and reached his bones; it was a small price to pay for being alive while Mercutio was not.

“It is a shame indeed that they did not bury you outside—you always did love the daylight,” Ben finally spoke aloud as he took in dim ambience. The sun and brightness matched Mercutio’s personality, radiant and warm and unwilling to hide in the shadows. “Though, you _would_ wake just to curse the crows that would dare to perch upon your grave.”

A light chuckle escaped Benvolio then before it slowly faded away into a sombre expression complete with eyes that shone with unshed tears and a set jaw. “I would take it, anything, if it would rouse you from your eternal slumber.” Another shuddering breath, the hands upon his lap clenching and unclenching.

“I’m sorry I failed you, Mercutio.”

Benvolio still remembers when they first met like it was yesterday. He and Romeo had gone to one of the taverns in town—of course—and were having a good a time as one would expect. Benvolio had amassed a small crowd, regaling patrons with a story, while Romeo sat off at the side, trying to charm one of the barmaids. When Romeo knocked over a jug of wine, though, Benvolio figured it was time to call it a night; he had learned the hard way that Romeo was not as light as he looked and he did _not_ want to carry him all the way back home again, never mind what his uncle would do if he caught them.

Just as he got to his feet, ready to break things up, a small group of Capulets had made their way through the crowd to stand before him. Ben sighed internally; this was the last thing he needed tonight. Squaring his shoulders, Benvolio faced them head on, making sure to try and hide Romeo behind him. “May I help you gentlemen?”

Instead of answering directly, one of them decided to go the roundabout approach, mocking the theatrics they had just witnessed Benvolio performing a few moments ago. “Imagine our surprise when we came into this fine establishment hoping to be entertained for the night only to find its patrons _and_ servers alike so enraptured by the by the filthy tongue of a Montague, as if you own the place.”

Benvolio bit the inside of his cheek, lest he say something they would _all_ regret. “We were just leaving.” In a show of bravado, against everything his fighting instincts had taught him, Ben turned his back on his enemies to reach over and wrap one of Romeo’s arms around his shoulder, hauling his cousin to his feet.

“ _Ben!_ I just about had her—” Romeo cut himself off as Benvolio turned them and he saw the Capulets, a little more than the two of them alone could probably take on.

Taking his cousin’s silence as understanding the gravity of the situation, Benvolio took a step forward only to be halted by a hand on his shoulder.

“Now you act so gracious as to give us your _leftovers_ , as if we are dogs that heel to _you_?” the man that dared to touch him sneered.

Pacifism, Benvolio learned early on, never did quite go over well with the house of Capulet, and his own patience could only spread so thin. “Do the lot of you take offense to _everything_?”

A loud laugh cut through the tension that filled the tavern, and all eyes turned to look at the source: a young man around his age, whose wavy hair looked windswept even thought they were indoors and equally unruly chest hair peaked through the low cut of his shirt. Noticing he had everyone’s attention, the man held his hands up, one of which was wrapped around a cup of wine. “Please, don’t stop on my account. This is getting good.”

One of the Capulet’s raised an arm, pointing at the man. “You will cease or find yourself an enemy of House Capulet.”

The man kept silent, but the smile that remained on his face and the gleam in his eyes promised nothing good, Benvolio was certain.

“And Capulet and Montague alike will take this feud outside or answer to the royal guard,” the tavern owner declared, quite bravely some would say, but it was one of the reasons Benvolio liked coming to this tavern time and again. Unfortunately in this instance Ben knew he and Romeo would be attacked as soon as they stepped out the door.

Tugging Romeo closer to his side as they all shuffled towards the exit, Benvolio bent his head close to his cousin’s ear. “Just let me handle this—”

“I am no coward!” Romeo protested, cutting Ben off as they walked out the door. “I can fight just as well as you!”

Yeah, when he hadn’t downed as much wine as he did tonight; Romeo was more likely to stab himself than a Capulet in his current state, but before Benvolio could point out that _very_ important fact a clang of metal from behind them caught their attention.

Turning around, they found the sword of a Capulet meant for them blocked by the blade of the very man that had found such amusement in Ben’s words inside the tavern.

“Mind if I _cut_ in?” the man punned, having no business to be beaming as much as he was, and there was a ghost of a smile on Ben’s face before fighting erupted around them.

Their odds of coming out of this alive had gone up exponentially now that there were three of them, even more so since it seemed their mysterious ally was quite skilled with a sword. When all the Capulets were taken care of in some form or other the trio took their leave, running through the streets of Verona just as the sun began to rise over the horizon.

“Now _that_ is a tale worth telling,” Romeo gushed as they turned a corner and slowed to a stop, bending down to catch his breath. “Where did you learn technique like that?”

“And why show them now?” Benvolio added, a hand on his hip as he took in his own deep breaths for air. “You’ve managed to stay neutral all this time; you’ll be marked a Montague henceforth.”

Placing a hand against the nearest wall, the man leaned against it, a smile still firmly on his lips. “Didn’t you know? Maiming is taught in between cutlery and how to bow at the waist.”

“You’re royal?” Romeo’s eyebrows raised in both question and surprise.

“A royal pain, more like.” The man’s eyes slid over to Benvolio as if he would understand his answer that didn’t seem to really answer anything.

Royal, but not part of the ruling family, Benvolio thought, dissecting and analyzing what was said—a cousin of a royal in power, perhaps. A spare, _an annoyance_ , just like him. Benvolio understood that quite well.

“And to answer _your_ question, being associated with the Montagues doesn’t seem so bad, especially if they’re anything like the pair of you. One could always use some fun and excitement in their lives, wouldn’t you say? Besides, seems like you needed the help, and I was happy for it.”

“Never a dull moment in our company, I can promise you that.” Romeo grinned, sharing a look with Benvolio, who smiled and shook his head. “And we are certainly grateful for both your aid and your alliance. Romeo,” he introduced himself, holding out a hand.

“Mercutio,” the man offered his name, taking Romeo’s hand. “And you, who had captured mine and everyone else’s attention back in the tavern?”

Ben laughed as he took Mercutio’s hand. “Benvolio.”

“Benvolio,” Mercuito repeated as if trying the name out on his tongue. “Is there a reason you hold yourself back in a brawl?”

He blinked, obviously taken aback by the sudden question. “I beg your pardon?”

But Romeo let out a laugh, knowing exactly what Mercutio was talking about. “My father chastises him for it everytime. ‘Be more aggressive; do you not dream of striking me down one day?’” Romeo mimicked his father’s voice, dissolving once more in a fit of giggles.

Benvolio choked down a laugh—this was his uncle, his _lord_ , he should _not_ find amusement in this—his eyes rolling to the heavens. “I am a _lover_ , not a fighter,” he tried to explain himself.

“And my protector,” Romeo added needlessly.

Benvolio lightly shoved his cousin. “Now you admit it, when any other time you curse me for doing so?”

Mercutio laughed at their antics. “The ‘lover’ part I have no doubt in,” he started, locking eyes with Ben, “But you _are_ a fighter, if only you allow yourself to be. Your enemies will not hold back, so why do you?”

Romeo’s amusement faded as things seemed to get serious, and he glanced at his cousin, knowing why Benvolio rarely killed in any of their confrontations.

Ben’s gaze dropped, wrestling over whether or not he should tell the truth before deciding he didn’t want to hide his reasoning from someone that would be around them faithfully. How could he ask for honesty if he did not give it himself? “There’s been enough death around me; I do not wish to bring more by my own hand.”

The silence seemed to drag on forever before Mercutio nodded and clapped Benvolio on the back before wrapping his arm around Ben’s shoulders. “It’s settled then: you shall be our shield, defending our backs, and I will be your sword, striking down those who dare go against you.”

Benvolio searched Mercutio’s face, searching for falsehood but finding none and it left him speechless. How could he garner such understanding and loyalty from someone he just met when he couldn’t get the same from his uncle, own flesh and blood?

“And what of me? Am I to cheer from the stands?” Romeo asked, feeling left out.

“You, _heir_ , are free to be whatever you want,” Mercutio teased, which was both ironic and true because while the heir certainly had more leeway than others, they were also bound by that duty, too.

Romeo seemed to appreciate the irony if his laugh was anything to go by, and he slung an arm over Mercutio and Benvolio’s shoulders, forming a circle hug. “What good fortune it was to have met you, Mercutio.”

“Likewise, my future lord.”

“Oh, come off it,” Romeo said with another chuckle, breaking the hug to push Mercutio away for the verbal jab. His stomach suddenly growled, and all three of them looked down at Romeo’s stomach. “So, morn comes and my stomach does protest. Shall we partake in breakfast back at the house?”

“I will never turn down food,” Mercutio replied, and Benvolio watched as the two of them walked on ahead. “What do you think about maybe stealing some horses from the Capulets one day? Future prevention, and all that.”

“I can’t tell if you say that in jest or not.”

“That’s half the fun, dear Romeo.”

Benvolio shook his head as he overheard their conversation, wondering what he’s gotten himself into having to look after both Romeo _and_ Mercutio now. But as they soon noticed his absence and turned back to beckon him forward, Ben found he didn’t quite care. He would live and die by them.

But as Benvolio now returned to the present from his reminiscing, he was reminded once more how he had failed them both. What shield was he if those he had sworn to protect were gone while he still remained? What use was a shield if he no longer had anything to defend?

“In your name, I shall not fail someone who needs me ever again,” Benvolio vowed as his fingers traced over the engraving on Mercutio’s name. It was all he could do to promise never to do it again, and it sickened him that it was all he was capable of. As for his vow to Romeo, well, he’d have to make that at _his_ grave.

…One that he was already late in going to.

Holding his breath to stave off his tears, Benvolio gave Mercutio one last glance before got to his feet.

“Until we meet again, my friend.”

**Author's Note:**

> Could be seen as Mercutio/Benvolio; lord knows I left enough hints at it LMAO I'm all for Ben being bi (alliteration ftw!). How else will Rosaline, him and Escalus be a threesome?
> 
> Re: Benvolio's fighting style - in that fight scene between Tybalt + one other Capulet it seemed like Ben was really fighting defensively. I feel like he'd never start a fight but wouldn't run from one, either, and that he'd sooner injure someone than kill them.
> 
> Mercutio + stealing horses is a reference to Mercutio actually stealing the horse of Tybalt's cousin after he killed him, as told by Romeo lmao
> 
> Also, Benvolio's vow to Mercutio is also a little hint to him saving Rosaline in the alley: "You needed my help." = "In your name, I shall not fail someone who needs me ever again."


End file.
